


Light

by samcaarter



Category: Stargate SG-1, Stargate Universe
Genre: Angst and Feels, F/M, First Time Together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:08:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22993711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samcaarter/pseuds/samcaarter
Summary: The Destiny is on a collision course with a star and they have only a few hours left to live
Relationships: Samantha "Sam" Carter/Jack O'Neill
Comments: 37
Kudos: 98





	Light

**Author's Note:**

> Sam and Jack are from around s7. And a big thank you to fogsblue for being excellent!

The light in the room flickers as if fighting to stay alive, but the numbers don't lie. Most of the systems are offline already. It seems that the FTL drive will be the last thing to go. They have maybe a couple of minutes until they run out of power to keep the shield up or the engines running and they'll drop out.

The light flickers again and then dies, submerging them in the almost near darkness.

Sam looks at Rush who returns her grim stare. She knows how much he wanted this to be a wonderful discovery, how much he wanted to be here. She'd rather be home, but she is sorry he only got half of his wish. The universe, huh?

The next several hours blur together. Rush loses it and a part of her wants to rage as well. Maybe with just a little more time they could have solved this. But then Colonel O'Neill gently reminds her that they had to try dialing Earth, that they had no way of knowing it wouldn't work and she sighs and tells him _yes, sir_ and not _we knew the Destiny had no power to dial home._ There's no point in arguing anyway. Not anymore.

There's also nothing to do. Eli tells her his idea and together they quickly determine that using the shuttle's power to bring some of the systems back online won't work. Neither will using the shuttle's engines do any good. The ship's simply too big.

She watches him carefully and thinks she sees the first signs of dread settle on his face. There's nothing she can do.

But maybe the ship did something for them.

The Colonel finds her sometime later, banging on her door until she gives up on her well deserved and, probably, last nap and opens it.

"There's something you want to see," he announces and turns to leave, succinct and commanding.

"I don't think so," Sam says, not moving and prompting him to stop and face her.

"That's an order then. And, Carter, don't turn off your radio again."

She takes a step forward, slamming the button to close the door. "The battery died," she lies. "Besides, what does it matter if we're all going to die too?"

He tries to stare her down, forgetting for a moment that she can be just as stubborn when she wants to be, and then backs away, his gaze softening. "Maybe not today. Come on."

It is amazing. The odds of them dropping out on the outer edge of a star system are astronomical. Which she and her fellow scientists can't help but repeat until the Colonels exasperatedly tell them to _please, stop._

There's only one problem though. Strictly speaking, there are many, but right now she's only capable of thinking one step ahead. There is no way to determine if the planets are habitable.

"But the odds are good, right?" Colonel O'Neill asks.

Sam looks at Lisa who looks back at her, but Sam stays silent.

"At least one planet should be in what is called the Goldilocks Zone, not too hot and not too cold," Lisa says and takes a breath. "Just right to allow for the presence of liquid water."

The Colonels share a look. "That's not exactly my definition of paradise," Colonel O'Neill says.

Young gets down to business as usual. "But what about vegetation?"

Lisa shakes her head. "We can't know that. Not yet anyway. The odds are," she hesitates, "good, but don't quote me on that one."

They got lucky. Sam doubts their luck will extend down to the planet's surface.

"Uh, I think we're heading for that big blue planet, should we be worried?" Colonel O'Neill says, peering out of the shuttle's window.

"An aerobraking maneuver," Sam says, voice flat. The smidgen of hope she felt is now gone. Having allowed for the possibility of one planet being habitable, she now looks at their next problem: they only have one shuttle and over eighty people on board.

And if there's anything she's really good at, it's math.

Big Bertha gets closer. Rush joins them. The Colonels and Greer go to warn the people about the turbulence. And Sam sits in the pilot's chair and waits for the show of a lifetime to begin. She's been on spaceships before, but never on one so old, and never like this.

The turbulence isn't too bad, even if it does make her worry the shuttle will simply crack open like an egg. But the Ancients didn't half ass things, if the Stargate system is any indication, and in just a minute or two they're safely on the other side. Getting clear of the gas giant. Flying straight into...

Oh no.

The Colonels are back and everyone's laughing, but then Rush realizes it too, and the silence that fills the small space is deafening.

Sam wants to laugh. Maybe it's her turn to have a nervous breakdown. Dying in a star? Talk about going out with a bang.

But if her other choices are suffocation when they run out of breathable air, or dehydration when they run out of water then, perhaps, this is not the worst way to go. From the stars we came and all that jazz.

Young asks for confirmation. Double check it. Triple check it. To be absolutely sure. There's nothing more Sam or Rush can do but point at the shuttle's navigational computer. Their course is clear and takes them directly into the sun. They have no shields to protect the ship, and the shuttle is only big enough to fit seventeen people. The planet is their only chance now.

Young, looking grim, asks them to gather everyone in the gate room and leaves to discuss something with Colonel O'Neill. Privately.

Sam has a feeling she knows where this is going and if she's right, she already knows what she'll do.

Most of the crew are packed together on the observation deck which gives them the clearest view of their next destination. The people worriedly ask her about the sun, but she simply tells them to follow her to the gate room.

The lottery idea seems ridiculous, still it doesn't really surprise her when Young announces that he's withdrawing his name from it. The Colonel echoing Young sure does.

Young is injured. Jack O'Neill is giving up? Incomprehensible. She stares at him, noting that he avoids looking at her, trying to figure out his motivation. Wanting to shake him because the thought of him dying will never sit right with her.

She waits until she thinks it's safe to go after him without causing a scene in the corridor for everyone to watch and follows him.

She catches him right in front of the open door of his quarters and steps inside without an invitation. He doesn't say anything, simply closes the door and silently, finally, looks at her. She knows he won't be the first to speak.

"You can't do that," she says, hating how desperate she sounds.

"Do what?"

"You can't not go with them. They need a leader if they're going to survive. How many of them have even gone camping?" She figures it's a good idea to make this about the people and not him. Or her being unable to handle the thought of him dying.

The corner of his mouth lifts slightly. "That's why you're going. You'll do just fine."

But he's wrong. "I'm not," Sam whispers. "I'm not going."

"Carter," he says and there are dangerous undertones in his voice. "You are going, and I'll make it an order if I have to."

She slowly lowers herself to sit on the edge of his bed. "We're billions of light years away from the nearest court martial. So unless you plan on drugging me and dragging me to the shuttle?"

The question hangs in the air between them as the Colonel stares at her for a long minute before crossing to the bed and sitting next to her. "I'm sorry."

Sam turns her head. "For what?"

"We're not supposed to be here," he says with a shrug.

"It's not your fault. It's more my fault than yours anyway."

He shrugs his shoulders again. It's clear he doesn't want to share the blame with her, he thinks it's his burden to carry.

They sit quietly for a long time. His quarters' windows overlook the back of the ship, and the room stays free of the bright orange light of the sun.

"I don't want to fight for my life every day with sixteen other people on some rock in the middle of nowhere." She closes her eyes and sees it, barren and desolate and hopeless. It'll just be delaying the inevitable.

He looks at her, she can feel his piercing gaze. "It might be a nice planet."

"No, it won't be," she says, the chances of it being even remotely nice are so small, her brain refuses to consider them, despite the fact they've saved their own planet with the cards stacked completely against them.

"Carter, ever since we got here, none of us has had a decent night’s sleep," he says lightly, as if she's being unreasonable.

She laughs, it's bitter and so unlike her. "And no one who goes to that planet will ever have a decent night of sleep again. I don't want to be one of them. I want it to be quick, so I'm staying here." She stands up and looks defiantly down at him. "And I don't need your permission."

He's up on his feet and in her space so fast she takes an involuntary step back, but he follows. "The hell you don't, _Major._ "

She stares right into his face, jaw set and lips pressed tightly together, she won't let him win this one.

Carefully and slowly, making sure not to break eye contact with him, she reaches for the chain of her dog tags and pulls them over her head. Then just as purposefully she takes his hand and lets the tags pool in his palm. He breaks eye contact first.

"I quit," she says, feeling naked without the familiar weight of the tags against her skin. And maybe this is totally unnecessary, but in the end it doesn't really matter, not when they have less than a day to live anyway.

"Sam," he says, quiet and pleading. But she shakes her head, stopping him.

"Why aren't _you_ going?" she asks through gritted teeth.

He looks her in the eye again and swallows the words, but she already knows the answer. The worst thing is that she can't even accuse him of being a hypocrite.

* * *

Sam sits on the stairs leading to the second landing of the gate room. Lieutenant James stands guard a couple of steps above her. Everyone's gathered here again, this time with their meager possessions. Everyone but two people.

She's there only to nod goodbye to the winners of the lottery. She hasn't known them for long, but she does know them, and it matters.

The lottery doesn't take long at all, and within minutes she hears Scott's voice confirming that everyone's aboard the shuttle and the door's sealed. Pushing herself up to her feet, she follows Young to the observation deck, not surprised to find Jack and Rush already there, watching the shuttle below them come to life.

They say their goodbyes and Sam sincerely hopes she's wrong, that they won't struggle, that the planet will welcome them and they will build whatever semblance of normal life they can.

She shakes Young's hand, wondering if he regrets leaving his position as SG team leader only to end up reassigned to the Icarus and on this ship in the middle of nowhere. But then again, she ended up here as well. On this ancient ship that, as fate would have it, is called the _Destiny_.

Rush apologizes to Eli, for dragging him into this mess. For signing his death sentence, though he doesn't say that out loud.

Eli smiles, still managing to look like a kid in a candy store. "Actually, I'm not sorry. Not yet," he hastily adds. "I'll probably be sorry at the end of the day, but..."

She feels Jack's shoulder brush hers as he turns to look at Rush, who in turn looks profoundly guilty.

"We don't have that long, do we?" Eli says, crestfallen.

"No," Sam says. "A couple of hours at most."

A couple of hours to live. In the past, she always held on to the faint hope that they would be rescued. There's never really been a countdown to their death.

She's never felt so completely hopeless.

It's a strange feeling, the absence of hope. She's not angry, nor dismayed, she's not even disappointed. There's just nothing. She understands now why it can make such a difference in people's lives.

"I'm going to go for a walk as well," she says.

"I'll join you?" Jack says, and she nods, grateful that she didn't have to ask him.

There's something else she needs to ask him.

They walk in silence. She sets the pace and he matches his strides to hers, but every fourth or fifth step she feels his arm brush against hers. The contact is unintentional, she thinks, or maybe it's simply a response to wanting to be close to someone during the last few hours of their lives.

"How are you?" Sam risks, not expecting him to actually answer the question.

He doesn't say anything for several moments, long enough that her mind begins formulating the real question she wants to ask him.

"I'm calm," he says, surprising her. "All things considered," he adds with a glance at her.

"There is no point in panicking," Sam points out and feels him lean closer and gently bump her shoulder with his.

"No, but there's a whole slew of other feelings to feel. Fear, desperation, remorse."

"And you're... calm?" she asks, but there's suspicion in her voice. A part of her thinks he's putting on a brave face for her sake.

"Yeah. Of all the ways we could've died over the years, flying into a star doesn't seem so bad."

She thinks it's funny that she thought the same thing.

"What about you?" Jack asks after a moment of silence.

Sam stops in front of her door, opens it, and turns to face him. "I am sorry that we screwed it up."

A strange emotion comes across his face, but she doesn't want him to assume anything.

"No, I mean, think about it. This ship has been flying out into the universe for a million years, or more, and then we show up"-a smile tugs on her lips, the situation seems almost comical now-"and it's flying into a star."

He chuckles. "Hey, that's not our fault."

Sam looks down at the metal floor, suddenly shy. Maybe it's bad timing, but there's still time for something good to happen. Something she's wanted for years. The only thing is she's not sure if he still wants it.

Jack interprets her silence as the end of the conversation. "Well," he says, a little awkwardly, "you're home. I think this is goodbye?"

The word cuts deeply. She's so unprepared for the ache it invokes in her very being, that she gasps.

He notices, of course, and takes a small step closer. "Carter?"

"Do you-" She's breathless. "Do you want to come inside?" She manages to say and looks up at him.

The corridor is dark, but they're illuminated by the light of the ever nearing sun, and she can see his features clearly. The air between them seems to hum, and she stills, not daring to breathe. _This is it,_ she thinks.

The moment stretches on, defying the laws of physics she knows like the back of her hand, but maybe, on this ship, anything's possible.

Jack nods. "Yeah," he says, eyes boring into hers, his expression unreadable.

Sam breathes in, mouth opening in relief at his answer and the intake of the much needed oxygen, remembering that she's still alive, and takes his hand.

She tugs him after her, just a little bit to get him to move, as if he's not sure if she really does want this. And she's never been more sure of anything in her life. They're flying into the sun, and Samantha Carter loves Jack O'Neill. Her two inescapable truths.

She lets his hand go after they're both inside, and he presses the button to close the door.

Standing in front of him, she drinks him in, illuminated by the deep orange light of the sun. It's hard to forget just how little time they have left. The unwelcome tears well up in her eyes and spill on her cheeks and he reaches for her face, gently wiping them away.

"Hey, none of that," he says, looking at her, concerned.

She nods, her face still cupped in his hands, and takes a deep breath. Her own hands come up to wrap around his wrists. "I thought we'd have more time." The bitterness in her voice is hard to miss. They were supposed to have a future together. They earned it.

Jack gives her a faint smile. "We have it. It could've been all over three days ago if we hadn't escaped from the Icarus."

"Ever the optimist," she teases him.

He lifts his eyebrows. "Isn't hope what kept us going?"

Her smile fades. He's right. And now there's no hope. Only a few precious moments and they're wasting them.

He moves his thumbs gently up and down her cheeks, caressing her skin. "I guess I don't have to ask you if you're sure about this," he says, as if reading her mind.

Her hand snakes up to cup the back of his neck and then she's rising on her tiptoes and pulling him down, until their lips meet, mouths opening and tongues tangling and all she can feel is relief. Relief and him. The way he tastes. The slight stubble on his cheeks and chin. His smell, his solid body pressing to hers, the gentle movement of his fingers as his hands travel downs her body until he touches her back, pressing her closer to him.

There's nothing but Jack.

He's not taking charge, but isn't passive either. Content to let her lead, set the pace, and yet when relief gives way to desperation, the feeling of _finally_ turns into _not enough_ , he slows her down.

He pulls back, lips brushing against hers with every word. "How long do we have?"

Sam swallows hard, keeping her eyes closed. "An hour, maybe two," she whispers.

Jack's hands slide underneath her t-shirt, raising goose bumps on her skin, just as his nose nuzzles her cheek, giving her too many sensations, and she's not sure which one to focus on. "So you're saying I can't take my time?"

A breathless laugh escapes her, while her insides quiver at the thought of him taking his time, it’s barely been five minutes and she already feels molten. "I'm afraid not."

His short fingernails gently scratch her skin, forcing her to open her eyes with a gasp, and he's there, looking at her like she's his lifeline. Like he never wants to stop. Like he can never have enough of her.

She rises on her tiptoes again and kisses him, sliding her arms underneath his, clutching him to her, wanting to be even closer, annoyed at the layers of clothing between them.

He shares the sentiment, if the way his hands quickly start working on her belt and the buttons of her pants is any indication. She's pressing them so tightly together, it makes it difficult for him, but he seems unwilling to move away from her, to lose their body contact for even a second.

Forgoing the belt, he bunches up the fabric of her shirt, fingertips tickling her skin. She deepens the kiss, impatient for more. More of him, more of them, together. The sound he makes at the back of his throat goes to her head, making her dizzy, and she wants to hear it again.

She gently bites his lower lip and feels a rush when his hips jerk into hers, fingers digging into her sides.

He pulls away, eyes finding hers, heat and desire and love shining back at her, and she can't help the grin spreading her lips.

It elicits a low growl from him. "Something funny?"

She opts for kissing him harder instead of answering. It momentarily distracts him and his hands still.

"If you keep doing this, I'll think you're distracting me on purpose." His lips brush hers with every word.

"Can you blame me? I've wanted to kiss you for a very long time," she says, refusing to feel embarrassed for admitting it out loud. If she doesn't say everything she wants to tell him now, she'll never get the chance.

His eyes bore into hers, and despite him not saying a word, she gets it. He feels the same. It would be nice to hear it, but he's doing a great job showing her.

"Yeah," he says, lowering his head to capture her lips in a gentle kiss, so starkly different to just a moment ago.

The mood shifts too, her quiet confession sobering them up. Reminding them that hard and fast and desperate can be oh so good, but what they really want now is to savor every moment, the last few that they'll have together. To feel everything the other has to offer.

Fingers no longer frantic, he deftly undoes her belt and the button of her pants. His hands slide underneath the fabric until he cups the curve of her butt, pressing her closer, making her moan into his open mouth.

Shivering with sensations, she's glad he's keeping it slow. She feels his arousal pressed against her belly, his hands touching her in places he never has before, his tongue exploring her mouth. Her own fingers grip his hair and it's all a little overwhelming.

The heat pools low in her belly, her panties decidedly damp, and soon these careful and precise caresses become not enough again.

She makes a sound of impatience at the back of her throat and he smiles against her mouth.

"Is this payback?" she gasps against his lips.

His hands leave her butt and move up till he's gripping the lapels of her jacket. "Why, is it working?" he says, before pushing it off her shoulders, forcing her to release his hair to let the fabric fall to the floor. But his hands already work their way under her shirt and in a moment it's off her body as well, leaving her clad in only her bra, pants, and tightly laced boots. The heated look he gives her goes all the way down to her toes, making them curl.

Wanting to return the favor, wanting him naked, she takes advantage of his momentary pause to divest him of his jacket. With a faint smile on his lips that is distracting, he follows her unspoken directions as she grips the hem of his shirt and he raises his arms and then he's naked from the waist up.

Sam swallows hard. He looks deliciously ruffled. Her fingers run down his torso, soft fingertips caressing the sensitive skin of his stomach and his muscles twitch. He stands still, letting her have this moment of gentle exploration and she's grateful.

But his breathing is irregular. Impatience and desire are plainly written on his face, and Sam loves that she's doing this to him.

Moving up, her fingers reach his dog tags and, after a nod from him, she takes them off. She has no idea where her tags are, he hasn't offered them back, but it doesn't matter either way, no one's going to use them for identification, so she stuffs his tags in her pocket.

No longer content to stay still, he grabs her hips and walks her backwards until the backs of her legs hit the bed. Gently pushing her to sit down on it, he sinks to his knees and starts working on the laces of her boots.

"Jack," Sam says, immediately concerned for his knees, all the while shamelessly drinking in the picture he makes: kneeling in front of her.

He bats her hand away, instead reaching out to press his hand to her chest and push her backwards onto the bed.

An involuntary laugh falls from her lips and then he's tugging her boots off. Wanting to get back at him for the teasing, she deftly tugs her sports bra over her head and throws it at him. He looks up just as she props herself up on her elbows, catching her lower lip between her teeth and trying not to grin at him. _Payback,_ she thinks.

His gaze moves lower to her chest and he swallows hard. Then he looks back into her eyes and everything stills.

But only for a moment. His hands reach for the waistband of her pants, and he gets to his feet, pulling the pants off of her, her panties caught with them, leaving her bare and exposed in front of him. He doesn't give her a chance to react, catching her leg and beginning to press hot kisses to her left ankle, slowly moving up.

Stretching out her arms, Sam lets herself fall down onto the bed with a groan. There's no time, or point, to feel self conscious in front of him. The moment his mouth touches the apex of her thighs, her hands find her breasts, relieving the ache that's been building there for a while.

"Shit, Carter," he says. It's her reward and she takes it gratefully. The way he sounds, low and needy, does almost as much to her as his clever fingers and mouth.

Pushing her knees apart, he presses hot kisses to her thighs. First left then right, annoyingly avoiding the place where she wants him most, no doubt revelling in this slow teasing.

She makes a sound, half moan half groan, still content to let him take his time, but with just enough edge to let him know she's getting impatient. His lips on her are not enough, and with every passing second she needs the whole of him more and more.

Jack interprets the sound correctly, moving up her body, his lips following the path of his hands until he has to use his arms to keep himself above her. He pauses for just a moment, waiting for her to focus on him before flashing her a smug smile and lowering his mouth to her breast, sucking a nipple into his mouth.

Sam's head hits the bed with a thud and she reaches for him. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she pulls the lower part of his body flush with hers. One hand grips his shoulder, the other his hair. "Jack," she manages, a command and plea all at once.

He lightly tugs on the nipple with his teeth before letting go. "What?"

"Why are you still dressed?"

He laughs, deep and warm, "I'm a little busy here, Sam."

The sound of her name sends a thrill down her spine.

"Not everyone here is a genius multitasker," he continues, pressing small kisses to her breasts, her collarbone, her neck, until finally, his mouth is hovering over hers.

The desire to kiss him threatens to overwhelm her, but she pauses. Running her fingers through his hair, she looks at him, so beautiful and hers. Long repressed feelings well up in her chest, fierce and unyielding, refusing to be ignored any longer.

"I love you," she says. If there was ever a time to say it, this is it. She has to say it. She needs him to know. "I've always loved you."

He doesn't look away and in his eyes she sees everything she feels for him reflected back at her. He doesn't need to say anything.

"I love you." He says it anyway.

It sends her reeling. Hearing it after so many years of wondering is gratifying and liberating. She pulls him down for a kiss, deep and frantic. They're pressed chest to chest, bare skin to bare skin, and the ache between her legs and the yearning in her heart are impossible to ignore any longer.

"Jack," she whispers against his lips. "I need you. Now."

His belt is already gone, so are his boots and socks, and she wonders how she missed it. But he still needs to get up and she immediately wants him back.

He pushes his pants and boxers down and kicks them off in seconds, even if to her it feels like forever, and then he's naked and moving to settle on top of her. The light reflects off his skin, and Sam can't believe this is really happening.

His fingers dance down her stomach and she sucks in a breath as her muscles contract with anticipation. And then he's touching her sex, finding her slick and ready, so ready, for him, while his eyes never leave her face, taking every twitch and expression in.

Sam's mouth opens with a moan the second he slides two fingers inside and thumbs her clit, and then he's kissing her. Her own fingers tug on his hair, digging into his shoulder, demanding more. More of him, _right now,_ and he happily obliges, shifting his weight until the head of his cock nudges her entrance and he pulls back to lock his eyes with hers.

Her breath hitches, there's only love she sees in his eyes, fierce and deep and certain, and when he slides inside of her, it's everything she's ever wanted.

His lips are back on hers, not so much kissing, but touching and breathing each other in. She's bathing in sensations he provokes all over her body, so heady and distracting and so _so good_.

Her thighs cradle him as he begins to move, withdrawing almost completely, but slow and just perfect. She relishes the feeling of stretching around him. They fit together like puzzle pieces, and she wonders how she could ever have thought differently.

Jack's arms go under hers and his thumbs brush her neck with every thrust, as he presses his forehead to her shoulder.

His movements are teasing and soon, despite feeling like a tightly pulled string already, it proves to be not enough for her. But two can play this game, and she clenches around him, making him jerk and moan and look at her, eyes dark and wanting.

It thrills her, in a way that going through the Stargate or flying a ship might, but so much more. She does it again, watching his reaction, cataloguing it carefully while she still has the presence of mind to do so. He gets the hint.

His lips land on her neck and suck, hard, as he pulls out and slams back into her, drawing a moan from her lips. Slow and sweet was nice at first, but now this is exactly what she wants.

Her hands move frantically all over his back, his shoulders, his sides, down to squeeze his butt, making him falter for a second, then back up until they tangle in his hair as she cries out his name.

It makes Jack growl, thrust deeper, kiss her harder, and then she's there, teetering right on the edge. Just a little more and she's going to fall.

Her back arches, but she doesn't fall, she flies. His arms tighten around her and he slows down a fraction, letting her ride out the waves that roll all over her body as stars dance in front of her closed eyes and all she can do is feel.

When she finally focuses, he's there, looking down at her with a smile and tense muscles. Her hands frame his face and she pulls him to her for a kiss as he begins to move, building up the rhythm again, chasing his own release.

One, two, three thrusts later and he's gasping her name into her mouth as his hips grind into hers.

He collapses on top of her and Sam wraps her arms around him, trying to catch her breath. If she'd known that this is how it would be between them, it would've been so much harder to be good all those years. Maybe even impossible.

Fading aftershocks make her clench around his softening cock still inside of her, and Jack makes a small sound every time it happens. She wants this moment to never end.

Slowly he comes back to life as her hands gently move up and down his sweat slick back. He presses a kiss to her shoulder, then her neck, and then he raises his head, smiling at her.

"That was..."

Sam returns the smile. "Yeah."

"Makes me glad we kept our relationship professional." Seeing her raised eyebrows he clarifies, "Knowing how being with you would be like, would've been impossible to keep in the room."

She huffs out a laugh and he frowns, looking adorable.

"What?"

"I was just thinking the exact same thing," Sam says, still laughing softly.

"Well, you know what they say about great minds."

"Or fools, who seldom differ," she points out.

"You're anything but a fool," he says and kisses her. A gentle kiss, full of love and gratitude.

When the kiss ends, Jack shifts his weight, slipping out of her. The room is warm, but they get under the covers anyway. He lies on his back and Sam makes herself comfortable nestled at his side, sliding one leg between his and laying her head on his chest.

She feels drowsy and sated and at home in his arms, but knows that neither of them will be going to sleep. They can't afford to waste even a minute of what little time they have left together.

The light streaming through the two windows in her room bathes it in deep orange light, too bright to pretend they're in her house on Earth. Though she's reluctant to admit it, if they were on Earth, they wouldn't be lying naked in bed together.

Strangely enough, she doesn't want to be anywhere else.

Jack's hand rests lightly on her back, fingers tracing invisible patterns on her skin, raising goosebumps every now and then. He tells her about his cabin, the lake, and the clean crisp air all day long, unless it's too hot. How he’s always wanted to show it to her. How she’d love it there.

She blinks away her tears before propping herself up on one elbow to look at him. “I think I really would.”

One of his hands comes to rest on top of hers and he squeezes it. “I’m not sure if you’d love fishing.” He laughs when he sees her questioning frown. “You have to keep still.”

“I know how to be still,” Sam says, a note of petulance in her voice and Jack laughs again. She decides to do everything in her power to keep him laughing for as long as she can.

“Of course you can,” he says, clearly not meaning a single word.

“I’m still now,” Sam points out.

His hand moves to hitch her leg higher over his waist, and she considers taking the hint and straddling him.

“It’s because you’re tired.”

“Want me to show you just how not tired I am?” Sam smiles down at him and he returns it.

But it’s a sad smile. They both know there’s no time. She blinks against the tears and Jack reaches out to gently brush her hair away from her face.

She catches his hand and lays her chin upon their intertwined fingers, eyes tracing the familiar lines and angles of his face, committing this moment to memory.

“Do you think we should get dressed?” he asks quietly.

“It’s not going to matter.”

His nails scrape her back lightly, making her shiver. “I feel like I’m on the Titanic,” he says. “Too bad we don’t have an orchestra.”

Sam huffs out a small laugh, maybe he wants to keep her laughing too. “You can sing.”

“I don’t sing,” he says, giving her a look full of dismay.

Pressing her smiling lips to his hand, she doesn't think about movies. "I won't believe you if you say that this is your sidearm, _sir,_ " she says, infusing the word with as much sultriness as she can. He stills, but his nails dig into her shoulder before he can stop it. His reaction pleases her.

"Well, I guess I won't say it then," he says, perfectly nonchalant.

Her other hand touches the hair on his temple, gently combing through the short strands. "I won't have any regrets." And maybe it's a lie, but they're also lucky to have made it this far.

He disentangles his hand from hers and brings both arms around her, squeezing her closer. Her own arms go around his body and then they shift until they lie on their sides, face to face, as close as they can be.

“I’ll regret dying,” he says, just like he had so many years ago.

So many and yet not enough. She thinks a thousand years with him would not feel like enough. Sam swallows a sob and tightens her arms, he follows her lead. They're squeezing each other too tight, but she welcomes the pressure. The feel of him all around her. She wants it to be the last thing she feels.

It shouldn’t be long, she thinks. She prays it will be quick.

But as always, the universe has other plans.

The light panels on both sides of the bed come alive with a telltale hum, making Sam and Jack raise their heads in question.

Gently disentangling herself from his arms, she sits up on the bed, still illuminated by the orange light of the sun. But there’s no mistake, the lights in their room are on.

“Carter,” Jack says, and there’s so much confusion in his voice, “didn’t we have dying scheduled for oh, zero hundred hours?”

She turns to look at him, sure that she looks as shocked as she feels. “We did.”

“Why did the lights turn on all of a sudden then?” He asks, always trusting her to know the answer.

No.

There’s no way.

Sam closes her eyes with a groan and jumps out of bed. She needs to get to the control interface room, now.

Jack doesn’t move. Just stares at her.

“I-” she trails off, and reaches for her underwear, lying on top of her pants, and puts both on. “Come on.” She throws his own pants at him, carefully avoiding his gaze. Answers first.

Thoughts racing, she takes her time with the bra and her shirt, giving Jack the chance to finish dressing himself, without needing to wait for him. He doesn't take long, still by the time they're both ready and in the hall, more lights have turned on and the people start to appear.

Sam ignores the inquiries and makes a beeline for the control interface room. It's funny how familiar the way there seems now.

She also tries not to think what Jack's continued silence might mean.

They run into Young and he raises his eyebrows in question. "There's a rumor spreading we're still here."

"We are. Destiny needed all its power reserves to protect itself and us," Rush replies from where he stands at the console. Sam moves towards him, needing to see it for herself, despite the clear evidence - the power.

"So, you're saying we're going to live after all?" Jack asks and Sam raises her head from the display. There really is no denying it.

"Yes, sir." The word registers in her brain a moment after she says it, but their eyes are locked and she can't look away.

They're going to live.

The consequences of what they've done dawn on her, and for a moment the voices around her are nothing more than muffled background noise. There's only she and Jack in the room, six feet apart with an active console and regulations worming their way in between them again.

And they're going to have to live with that.


End file.
